Fallaway
by Empatheia
Summary: [Miroku x Kohaku] The endless search for rest and silence bears fruit. Miroku sees what no one else does, and Kohaku understands more than he should.


**A/N:** Written for the iyfic-contest community on LiveJournal quite some time ago. I forgot to post it, haha.

Enjoy!

**xxxx**

_**Fallaway**_

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_Sleeping is no mean art: for its sake one must stay awake all day._

Friedrich Nietzsche

The closest metaphor Miroku could come up with was that of a cricket in a cage, mostly because he was terrible with metaphors.

Kohaku paced the borders of his current existence, peering out through the branches of the trees and fingering the freshly sharpened edge of his kusarigama, seemingly unable to reconcile this small circle of firelight with his memories of the echoing lowlit castle he'd called home only days before.

What Naraku had done to his mind with his spells and fingers could not be entirely undone, no matter how much Kagome learned or how hard Kohaku worked. The boundaries between one moment and the moment that followed it would always be blurred for him, if not smeared entirely across other moments. He would never be sure where he was when he awoke, and sometimes his hours went in the wrong order.

Sango had utterly convinced herself that he was fine. The Kohaku she saw smiled far more often than the real one did, happily called her aneue and ate his dinner with relish. He was content in his new life at her side.

The Kohaku Inuyasha and Kagome saw was a quiet, troubled boy, but they put it down to the aftershocks of being in Naraku's service all this time and let it pass without comment.

If sometimes he stayed up all night silently counting the number of steps it took to circle their campsite over and over again to drown out the voices Miroku knew he still heard, they either did not see or pretended not to, finding it easier to believe that there was nothing left to be wrong anymore.

The Kohaku Miroku saw was_ tormented._

This had been the life meant for him, but he'd been taken away from it so long ago and now it was impossible to come back.

The others did not understand that, but Miroku did. He understood it _perfectly._

So, he took to getting up himself when he heard Kohaku pacing and going for long circular walks through whatever terrain they were currently resting in. Inuyasha and Sango were more than enough protection for Kagome, and Miroku was not afraid of anything happening to him despite the Kazaana being gone. His shakujou would protect him from anything small, and anything large he could easily evade long enough for the others to arrive.

Eventually, Kohaku started to follow him whenever he went out, not closely but a good distance back, slinking through the shadows as though trying to avoid notice.

Miroku pretended not to be aware of him and simply walked. There was no hurry now.

Taking the cricket for a walk, he thought of it wryly in his mind, letting it stretch its legs and remember the world outside the bamboo cage. Kohaku was not nearly so small or simple as an insect, of course, but Miroku liked to think that this helped in some small way to quiet the clamour in the boy's mind.

Slowly, slowly, the distance Kohaku followed him at shrank, until he was only inches from Miroku's heels. He never said a word, and neither did Miroku, but after they returned to the campsite from their walks Kohaku would always fall asleep. His breath was always calm and easy then... until he woke up to a world strange to him, and the voices returned.

When eventually the day came that Kohaku could no longer lie with the energy he had left and told Sango the truth (not loudly, he was never one to shout, but Miroku could see that she hear every word perfectly), Miroku couldn't decide which one to follow as they ran away from each other into the open-armed woods.

Eventually he reluctantly decided on Sango, as she was more of a long-term commitment to his heart than Kohaku was (what was Kohaku anyway? crickets mean nothing to men).

However, when he rationalized five minutes later that there was no way he could possibly catch an infuriated Sango running at top speed, it was with some bemusement that he realized he was relieved. Now he could do what he'd actually wanted to do in the first place, moral duty fulfilled.

Turning around, he ran in the other direction, knowing that while Sango was someone he could not catch, Kohaku was someone who could be caught if he wanted to be, which Miroku knew he did today. Surely enough, ten minutes later he came upon a leg dangling from a tree branch in his path, and above that a curled lanky body pressed into the jagged bark of the trunk.

"I wish she wouldn't love me anymore," Kohaku mumbled against his leg without looking up. "I can't keep up."

"She only wants you to be happy," Miroku said, instantly hating himself for the condescending tone.

Kohaku dropped his other leg and turned to face Miroku head-on. "Right, because she can't be happy until I'm happy. Because she's guilty about everything that happened. If she didn't love me, she wouldn't have to care."

The boy was, in a painful and twisted sense, completely right. Miroku couldn't think of a single thing to say.

Instead, he smiled and turned to continue down the woodland path away from the campsite, shakujou steadily stabbing the earth with each stride.

It wasn't the middle of the night, but Kohaku understood well enough, and after a minute jumped off the branch and followed him silently. Always two steps behind, like some sort of crippled attempt at courtesy where none was necessary. Theirs was a silence that was kind and cruel and once-- kind because it asked no questions, and cruel because it did not care to hear of answers. Still, they were content with it.

Soon they would have to turn around (complete the parabola) and return to the painful maze they'd managed to transport themselves out of for these few stolen moments.

What then? Kohaku would have to face his sister, the sister he'd wounded so deeply, and somehow keep his footing so that he remained his own individual rather than capitulated and conformed to the visions she had of him. It would not be an easy task. Miroku did not envy him it in the least.

Of course, his own was hardly easy either. He would also have to face Sango, and answer her when she silently asked him why he did not try harder to catch her.

It wasn't that he loved Kohaku, certainly not like he loved Sango.

He was just tired of the dance between her and himself, tired of fighting to make things fall into place the way they ought to according to his (and her) visions of the future. It was exhausting work. He wanted rest.

Twilight was falling, creeping through the leaves and swallowing the light bit by bit until he could hardly see the forest floor in front of him. Sighing, he altered his course to bring them back to the campsite before true night fell and the things with teeth and claws came out of hiding.

A hand caught his sleeve.

Miroku looked curiously back over his shoulder, a question forming between his brows.

Kohaku crawled under the protective shelter of a sweeping conifer's branches and leaned back against the trunk, barely visible unless one was looking for him.

Smiling faintly, Miroku followed and sat next to him, pressing their shoulders together and looking up through the branches to the silver rime of moonlight frosting the needles. Kohaku emanated warmth, now, and Miroku knew (with a depth of understanding the others lacked) just what a miracle that was.

Kohaku tipped his head wearily onto Miroku's shoulder, and Miroku let his own head rest atop the boy's mop of earthy brown hair.

Here, far from the truth, they could sleep at last.

**XxxxxxxX**


End file.
